


You're as fucked up as me

by orphan_account



Category: Rent - Larson
Genre: Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mark Centric, Not abandoned! Schools just taking all my time, Post-Rent, Poverty, Recovery is a long process, Self-Harm, more tags may be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-08 17:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12258936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: So it started to be easier and easier for Mark to lie to Roger and Mimi, who were both more interested in each other anyway. The “I already ate” and “I had lunch at work” slipped out of him more often than he dared to admit.





	1. Hide the truth

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing this as a kind of therapeutic experience. I have at least one more chapter on the way, I promise it'll be up in a week!
> 
> This story contains eating disorder and self harm, and in the later chapter(s) might have refrences to suicidal thoughts. Also drugs and addiction are mentioned, as is HIV and AIDS (this is rent after all)
> 
> English is not my native language and I don't live in NYC so I'm sorry for possible errors
> 
> The name of the story and all the chapters is from Dodie Clark's song Sick Of Losing Soulmates
> 
> This isn't very high tier entertaiment but I hope you enjoy

Mark wasn’t exactly sure when he had stopped eating. Maybe after Mimi’s recovery and move into their apartment, maybe after she tried to work but found out her health wouldn’t let her, or maybe after Roger’s health also started to show signs of deteriorating.

It didn’t really have anything to do with his body, or wishing to lose weight or get skinnier. He had alway been thin and pale, and if anything, he wished he could build some muscle mass.

No, it was started by the money. It was started by Mark working ten hour shifts for minimum wage at a nearby gas station, him trying to take care of both Roger and Mimi, whose health kept declining even after her miraculous recovery last Christmas, 11 months ago. Benny sometimes sent money for Mimi’s AZT (Mark wasn’t sure what for. Maybe out of guilt?) and the filmmaker wasn’t going to be the one explaining to him that since they had no insurance the money he sent barely covered that, let alone stuff like food. At least they hadn’t been kicked out and they almost always had electricity

So it started to be easier and easier for Mark to lie to Roger and Mimi, who were both more interested in each other anyway. The “I already ate” and “I had lunch at work” slipped out of him more often than he dared to admit. You need to be there for them, he told himself. They need it now.

Mark was tired. That was almost all he was able feel at that point. He’d wake up at six, drink a cup of black coffee, climb the stairs down with his bike at seven and be at work by eight. The next ten hours would be spent serving bad coffee to truck drivers, wiping the four tables in the corner of the station and aggressively dissociating, only rarely tapping into reality at all, getting through the day completely on autopilot, occasionally stealing a croissant from the shop.

At six he’d pack his bag, get on his bike and make his way back to the loft. He’d drag his bike up the stairs in a haze, ignoring the way the pedals hit his legs. Back in the loft he’d check on Mimi and Roger (have you taken your AZT “yes” have you eaten “yes“ you feeling okay ”yes, Mark, we’re all adults!”), and then proceed to get a cup of green tea. After that he’d collapse on the couch and fall asleep before nine. 

He didn’t have the time to film anymore, not that he thought about that much anymore. Whenever he had free time (he had the weekends off) he’d sit on the couch and listen to Mimi laugh softly and Roger pick his guitar, make tea and sip it slowly to not upset his empty stomach. Go shop for food and medicine. Try to call Collins once in a while. And sometimes, when he woke up in the middle of the night feeling lonely and helpless and small and empty, he’d take the blade he used for shaving and make small, even cuts on his left arm. Barely deep enough to draw any blood, high on his arm so he could be sure no one would see them when he had his jumper on.

He rationalized his cutting. It was the only thing that felt like anything, the sting being his only reminder that he existed, that he wasn’t as dead as he felt like. He needed it, like Roger and Mimi had needed their needles, but this didn’t hurt anyone but himself. This made him human. This was okay. He was okay. It was the one thing he was in control of. He was fine.

It was a dull, gray friday in November, rain making the streets muddy and slippery, the wetness making the chill air feel freezing. Mark was biking home from work and he felt so so tired. He had stayed up most of the last night, sitting in the corner of the locked bathroom, trailing his arms with the dull blade, feeling miserable. When he had finally fallen asleep he’d slept over his alarm and had to skip his morning coffee before hurrying to work, feeling light headed and disconnected from his own body. 

Now after work he wasn’t feeling much better, and couldn’t wait to flop down on the couch and sleep away the whole weekend. He got to the loft, opened the door and was faced with the stairs. He took a steady hold of his bike and forced his aching feet to move, trying to keep his goal in mind.

He was so tired. The bike was so heavy, the steps were endless, and for the first time in a while he felt real and not happy about it. Without the help of dissociation, he could feel each time the pedals of the bike slammed into his legs, every time he almost got tangled in his own feet and fell on his face. But after what felt like an endless climb, he got to their door, and fumbled with his keys to get it open. 

The keys, however, did not agree, and slipped from his trembling hands. He kneeled to pick them up, but the bike fell on him and he accidentally kicked the keys from the edge of the story back down.

For a second he just stared at his own trembling hands and felt the bike on his back. Then he started feeling warm tears pushing from his eyes and he didn’t have the energy to try to hold them back. He was tired, his clothes were soaked from the rain and he was freezing, he felt dizzy and overwhelmed and so fucking goddamn tired. 

With an effort he banged his fist against the door. He knew he was being lazy, he knew he was being selfish, but right now he couldn’t get up from under his damn bike, let alone walk the stairs back down, find the keys and then walk back up. He just couldn’t.

He banged again, more desperately, and heard footsteps from the other side. The door creaked open.

“Mark wha-”

Roger’s voice was cut short and Mark could see him kneeling down.

“I dropped my keys,” he tried to explain. Even to himself he sounded whiny and stupid. Suddenly he was very aware of the tears and how hot his face was even though his body was freezing. But then Roger moved up the bike to lean on the wall and offered his hand to yank Mark up.

Taking the extended hand Mark felt weak and stupid. Roger pulled him up, and the sudden movement made his vision blur and he fell forward onto Roger who was there to catch him. Mark blinked rapidly and steadied himself on the door frame.

“Sorry, I don’t know what’s gone into me.”

Roger just looked at him for a second, before opening his mouth. “You should probably go lay down. I’ll go get your fucking keys.”

Mark knew that Roger hadn’t intended to sound mean, but felt a bang in his consciousness anyway for making his sick friend run up and down the stairs. However he was sure he couldn’t make it himself, so he just weakly nodded, braced himself and made his way to the main room of the loft, leaning one hand on the wall as long as he could.

He made it to the couch and flopped down, fuzzy neon dots appearing in his sight again. He exhaled, closing his eyes and pulling up his blanket. He was tired and freezing, his clothes were still wet and if he had eaten anything he was pretty sure he would throw it up. He blinked, and fell asleep before Roger could get back.


	2. How do we win

Roger felt awful. He had felt awful pretty much the past 20 years of his life, but lately it had all been a lot. First April and the drugs, then the disease and withdrawal and now Mimi, whose health was like a rollercoaster straight to hell. Altho Roger wanted to believe that if something like that existed, Mimi would be happy in Heaven with Angel. 

After the faithful Christmas and the miraculous recovery, Mimi had moved into the loft with Roger and Mark. She’d tried to continue working, insisting on helping with the financial side of living in New York, but any exhaustion would send her health into a downward spiral. 

Roger stayed at the loft (at home) with her, partly to support and take care of her, partly because no one would hire him. He felt bad that Mark was working for all three of them, but Mark never complained so Roger thought he must have been fine. Or at least okay. It wasn’t like Roger hadn’t noticed how tired Mark looked, or how he sometimes just sat at the kitchen table staring into nothingness, or how he didn’t film anymore. It was just that they all had shit going on, and there wasn’t anything he really could do. And Roger Davis wasn’t one to talk about emotional stability so.

They were all in a pretty shitty condition that November. The temperature had dropped quickly from the August heats, and by now the loft was cold, damp and miserable. He and Mimi spent most of their time in the loft’s one bedroom, Mimi under blankets and Roger trying to do anything to stop her cough or make her laugh. 

He had started getting fevers too. Nothing major, he told himself, it’s only some nights and it’s not too bad. Mark had enough to worry already without Roger too getting sick… well, sicker. Mimi didn’t know either, she shouldn’t have to think about it. He was pushing through well, right? It was all okay.

Roger and Mimi had been sitting in the bedroom, Roger playing some tune on his acoustic and Mimi humming to it, when they heard a bang at the door. 

Mimi looked at Roger. You couldn’t get into the building without the keys, and since Mimi lived up with them now there wasn’t anyone who could get into the building but not into the apartment.

Roger was just opening his mouth to voice this when they heard another bang.

“You should go,” Mimi said. “Maybe it’s Mark.”

Roger tried not to hear the worry in her voice, but couldn’t help but wonder why Mark wouldn’t just open the door. 

The reason presented itself behind the door. Mark was laying under his bike, trembling, eyes red from crying.

“Mark wha-” Roger started, but closed his mouth, not knowing what to say. He kneeled to get to Mark’s level. 

“I dropped my keys,” Mark said. He looked awful. Roger stood up and pulled the bike up to lean on the wall and extended his hand for Mark to grab. He yanked the filmmaker up, but Mark almost fell back down, his feet not supporting him.

“Sorry, I don’t know what’s gone into me”.

“You should probably go lay down. I’ll go get your fucking keys,” Roger said. Mark started walking into the loft, steadying himself on the wall. Roger made his way down the stairs.

Internally, he was freaking out. What the fuck was happening. Was Mark getting sick too? He pushed that thought away, it was impossible. So what was wrong with him?

Don’t you see how exhausted he is? A small voice in his head told him. He has spread himself too thin and you’ve done nothing!

Roger was down, and spotted the keys easily. They still had a keychain Mark had gotten from Angel shortly after they met. Angel had told Mark that not having a keychain was boring and that she’d find him one.

Roger grabbed the keys and hurried back up. Walking too fast made him feel a little sick, but he really wanted to go see Mark, make sure he was okay.

When Roger got back up, Mark was laying on the couch, asleep. Mimi had also crept out of their room.

“What happened? Is he okay?” she asked him, eyes so full of worry it made Roger feel bad. Even though Mimi and Mark had their differences, they truly were family.

“I found him laying behind the door. He’d dropped his keys,” he dangled the keys to demonstrate his point.

Mark looked bad. Roger realized he hadn’t really paid enough attention to Mark lately. He was way too thin and way too pale for it to be healthy.

“I’ll.. I’ll get him something to eat,” Mimi said and walked carefully past them to the kitchen area, clearly having no idea of what to do or say.

Riger kneeled next to Mark, and after a short consideration shook the other man’s shoulder. He needed to know what was wrong, and more importantly, how he could help.

Mark woke up slowly, looking at Roger and blinking rapidly.

“Mark what’s going on?” Roger asked. He didn’t mean to sound accusing or angry, but he had never been the best at vocalizing his thoughts in ways that didn’t involve his guitar.

Mark rubbed his eyes. “Roger I’m.. I’m fine”. Roger, however, could easily tell that even Mark himself didn’t really believe that.

“No you’re clearly not and we both know that. I haven't been paying attention and something has happened. What is going on?” he felt angry, at himself for not seeing how shitty Mark looked, and at Mark for being so goddamn self-sacrificing and not telling him shit.

“Please Roger… Let’s not do this now, I really can’t..”

Mark looked like he was ready to start crying again. Roger took a deep breath and tried to make himself calm down.

“Please Mark, I just want to help you”.

“I just need to sleep,” Mark insisted. Roger promised himself to make Mark talk after he’d caught a few z’s. But before that, food.

It wasn’t like they had much anything left, since that day had been Mark’s payday, and they’d been going pretty much without money for the last week. However Mimi had managed to put together some leftover veggie soup and coffee. She bought them to Mark.

“Here. Me and Roger can go shopping later,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

Mark smiled. “Not very hungry, I’m sorry.”

“That’s bullshit”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this! I really didn't think anyone would still be interested in Rent, I'm happy to see I was wrong!   
> Is it bad that I'm having different pov's each chapter or should I just focus on Mark's?


	3. What the hell would I be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I have a few things I want to get off my chest!  
> 1\. Sorry that this chapter is so short and that it kind of sucks !! I promise next one will be better !!  
> 2\. Kind of tying to the last thing, I've been really busy with school resently, and I might start taking time in between updates, I'm sorry! I'm not abandoning this fic however, I have a lot planned!  
> 3\. On a more serious note, my own eating disorder was quite different from what Mark is experiencing here, so if my descriptions of symptoms suck, it's that

If Mark hadn’t been so fucking tired, he would have felt guilty. Mimi was looking at him with those huge brown eyes like she was afraid FOR him. Which made no sense. He was fine, just a little tired.

She was holding a bowl. Right now, eating was the last thing on Mark’s to-do list, the mere thought making him feel sick. He just wanted to crawl under a million blankets and sleep for a hundred years.

“How are you feeling?” Mimi asked, offering him the warm bowl.

“Not very hungry, sorry,” he declined. He wasn’t sure if he could even hold food inside of him. At least he didn’t feel like he wanted to.

“Bullshit,” she said, placing the bowl on the table. “When was the last time you ate something warm?”

That wasn’t supposed to be a hard question, that wasn’t why she had asked it. But Mark couldn’t recall. It wasn’t like he had a lot of opportunities anymore.

“I just want to sleep,” he countered.

Mimi’s shoulders sagged a little, and Mark felt a bang of guilt in his stomach. 

“Mark..” Roger started, but Mark cut him off.

“I’ll eat it when I wake up, okay?”

Mimi nodded and Roger stood back.

“At least change into dry clothes. Me and Roger will go shopping,” Mimi said, and Mark realized he was still wet from the rain.

“Mimi, you should stay here. I’ll go get some essentials,” Roger said. Mimi bit his lip but didn’t argue, so Roger grabbed Mark’s bag from the floor and walked off the flat. Mark noticed Mimi side-eyeing him, but then she put the bowl down and walked to the bedroom. 

Mark got up. He collected himself his other pair of jeans and a red jumper, and scrambled to the bathroom. 

The mirror was dirty and the light was dim, but he himself had to admit that he wasn’t in a great condition. His strawberry-blonde hair was flat, he had dark circles under his eyes and his skin looked even paler than usually. It was a wonder his glasses were still on him after all.

Not wanting to look at himself more than he needed to, he quickly changed and left his damp clothes to dry. He didn’t want to linger in the bathroom either. The sickly green light, beige tiles and stained porcelain objects something Maureen back in her spiritual phase called bad karma. Roger called it “shut up I don’t want to talk about it”. Mark didn’t know what to call it, but looking at the bathtub and thinking too hard made him want to throw up.

Curling under the blanket left him cold, but he was too tired to really care. Mark fell into sleep almost immediately, waking up for a second when he felt another blanket being added on him. He fell back into nothingness before he could thank Mimi for it.

**Author's Note:**

> If you struggle with mental health issues, don't be afraid to seek help. You are loved!


End file.
